Blood and Steel: Legends of La Gaul, Volume 1 Page 8

  All the while, he heard the relaxing voices around him, different, yet uttering similar words. They wanted him as one of them, part of this bizarre collective. They didn’t want him to be one of the barbarians, or even the gallant knights of Transalpina, but one of them, exactly like them, doing and saying exactly what they did. Suddenly, Gorias comprehended the terror that was Aphoom-Zhah, and at its simplest, he couldn’t swim in this flesh or be apart of their deluded fantasy realm any longer. Sensing his plan to rebel, they told him he may die if he stepped outside of the accepted collective, forever to walk as an outcast. Together, they had a sense of self, a fantastic ideal Gorias saw as a delusion of grandness.

  Gorias felt it would be better to die as himself than live amongst them…better death than a piece of the crowd. In fact, as his hatred of the feelings they sent him grew, he focused and the rage in his mind burned. The icy feelings of his skin faded and he felt his toes, fingers and own flesh…steel still in his grip.

  His forearms twisted and rent the flesh about him open. The dew nails of the dragon on his forearms cut him a path. It took all of his strength, but after the sensation of oneness faded, Gorias flailed and pushed through the mass of tightening flesh. His fingers broke into the air and the forms around him lurched. His sword pushed out, creating a larger space, but the weapon slipped from his wet grasp. His bleary eyes saw that he was much higher in the creature than he first thought, about mid thigh on the right side. Trying to pull himself loose, yet not wanting to plummet headfirst to the beach, Gorias fought with the gaggle of hands and arms, trying to pull him back into the being.

  Once outside the flesh a little, he saw that the creature peppered with shafts from longbows. Had his own strength extracted himself from this collective, or had the archers in the drakkar aided? It didn’t matter, for Gorias could breathe again.

  Unable to free his left arm, Gorias pulled hard still and yanked free the curled up figure of an elderly female. Eyes shut, she screamed out in a liquidy call, trying to scratch and claw Gorias back into the fold. Try as she might, the old woman couldn’t get a handle on Gorias. She screamed and told him so many things, grand tales of why he should stay with the collective. No longer willing to listen to her pathetic lies, Gorias acted. Her tongue kept wagging as he seized her. All twisted and rosy colored, Gorias tossed her free of the collective and sent her screaming to the beach. Her brittle back busted and the pitiful screams from her gaping mouth ceased at last.

  Like he spotted the gate to heaven itself, Gorias saw the handle of the axe near the groin of the giant. He ripped the weapon loose and roared the name of his god once more. Fingers, hands and mouths slaked over his frame, but Gorias fought on. No longer could he hear Jenna’s voice, or that of the collective, but the tone of his father came back to him. It sounded like a berserk scream.

  Caught in the morass, he kicked, feeling tendons tear and bones crunch. He wedged his body and the hand that gripped the weapon came loose. With a single arm, he swung the great axe, Wodan came through and Gorias sank it into the lower abdomen of the creature. Negative cries filled his mind, like a gasp of a choir in a well. He still could hear the pleas of the collective to join them. Gorias twisted the axe sideways, then pulled back. Though no guts unraveled, a pair of arms and an entire body puked from the belly of the thing that personified Aphoom-Zhah. Gorias couldn’t tell if the cry came from within his mind or actually to his ears, but he heard a wail of agony.

  Legs shaky in the wet flesh of the giant, but ready to propel him away, Gorias jumped free of the creature and plummeted downward. He guessed the fall at over a dozen feet, but his boots hit the sand, which gave some, and he rolled on the soft earth. Though pain shot up his legs and back, it felt good to be alive. It was good to be just Gorias again. Beside where he landed, he saw his sword. Gorias smiled.

  He turned to face his opponent and saw the immense being wobble. From the injury to the leg and the shot to its gut, the collective stumbled, but held its ground. Gorias seized the axe with both hands, reached back far behind his head and flung it, end over end. This time, he still missed the head, but the axe tore into the neck of the beast. The blow caused a waterfall of grisly ejecta down the chest of the monster. This substance held many bodies and more wriggling lives. The neck weakened, the large oblong head of Aphoom-Zhah teetered and hung over on its ruined root.

  From out of the brush emerged one of the Gnoph-kehs, loping on its six legs, opening its huge mouth to roar at Gorias as Aphoom-Zhah came apart. Gorias thought the new arrival a freakish polar bear, but far bigger. Mind still confused, arms sore, but ablaze with fire, Gorias brought out his other sword and swung both blades as he dodged the attack of the massive creature. Any other animal, his falling slash would’ve taken off a limb, but his swords lodged deep in the thigh of the Gnoph-keh’s left fore-leg. When the Gnoph-keh lurched, shocked by the impediment to its advance, Gorias’ body jerked, not letting go of his weapon. He wrenched them back, pulled free and stabbed forth, delving the tip into the side of the beast a foot deep at least. The creature yelped and drew away from him, making the blades exit at a crude angle, bringing a loop of intestine with it.

  Gorias turned and ran for the drakkar. His legs rebelled at first, but after a few steps, they got with the program. The ship sloshed out in the sea several yards. Thynnes and the men shouted their support as Gorias swam for them. He never looked back, but the horror in the faces of the men on the ship told him a story.

  As soon as several men dragged Gorias aboard, he learned the reason for their terror. More of the six-legged polar bear-like beasts flooded around the giant as it fell to pieces. Many headed to the beach, aimed at the ocean, but a few stopped, looked at the flesh disgorging all over the sand, and started to dine. The creatures tore into the pile of unraveling humanity while a few of their brethren swam toward the drakkar.

  The sailors tossed javelins, impaling a few of them as the long bowmen fired a fresh volley.

  The ship turned and started to head into open water. Gorias stared at the beach for a long time before he muttered, “She’s gone.”

  “You’ll see her again, Gorias,” Thynnes said gently, his own eyes still on the distant land. “Just not today.”

  Gorias sat in the rear of the boat and breathed heavily. One of the sailors brought him a ragged cloth rag to wipe off his skin. He rubbed his eyes, then held his face in his hands as Thynnes stood near him. The sailor dropped the towel and stepped away from Gorias.

  The Ingaevone asked the General, “Do you believe in God?”

  Thynnes shrugged as he peered back at the land again. “A host of them, heh. I reckon there’s one that reigns supreme.”

  “I’m not asking for Valhalla, nor a bevy of drink and whores, hell, I don’t even want to piss in the mouth of Cthulhu. All I want is her back. I’d give my left arm to just have a drink with her again.” He looked up and let out a tired laugh. He grabbed up the towel, sponged at his face and then wiped down his arms. “And you still want me to kill the pervert King Silex of Albion?”

  Thynnes smiled and the ship heaved on, departing with great speed. “Life goes on, Gorias. No use wallowing in loss forever.”

  Though anger ran through Gorias’ brow, he nodded at Thynnes. The harsh words rang true, even if he didn’t want to hear them.

  “What else can you offer me, but my life and some recompense? My ass grows tired of war, old man.”

  Thynnes clucked at the sky and then said, “My sister’s betrothed died in battle before she consummated the marriage. She is almost twenty winters and of royal blood…”

  A doubtful look later, Gorias asked, “A twenty year old virgin? That can’t be true or very healthy.”

  “Does it matter if she is a virgin?”

  His hands rung out the rag as he watched the salt water and slime splatter on the boards. Gorias shrugged. “Why would I want her or why would she want me? What do you mean by all
of this crazy talk?”

  Thynnes smiled. “If you kill Silex and marry her, my, that would add to you legitimacy.”

  “To what?” Gorias frowned as he wiped his beard off, confused by his words.

  “Kingship.”

  Gorias blinked and stood abruptly. His sinewy arms braced the railing near the rear of the drakkar. He stared toward Albion, though he couldn’t see it. He swallowed hard, he licked his mustache, tasting the salt of the sea and the bile of Aphoom-Zhah.

  “King,” he murmured. “I’d be a real prize for that land, a warrior King.”

  Thynnes smirked and whispered, “All hail Gorias, King of the Bastards, aye?”

  “King of the Bastards, that’d be me,” Gorias said and touched his chest near his heart. “How long ago did this girl’s lover die in battle?”

  “Not really her lover, more of a betrothed, arranged kind of thing. Him? Oh, he was killed by some bastard barbarian in a tavern a fortnight ago.”

  THE END?

  Insurmountable

  “The superior man is unassuming in his speech,

  but exceeds in his actions.”

  -CONFUCIUS

  The hole in the roof of the shrine didn’t gape wide enough to free his father’s spirit, so Gorias tossed another dead dwarf over the cliff. The impact of the projectile on the already broken thatched roof proved one Gorias La Gaul desired. Gorias’ brow furrowed when the edges of the ragged opening to the monastery broke open further. He rubbed his gray beard and contemplated his next move. With a sigh, Gorias reached down to the snowy earth and grabbed another of the diminutive, albino folk. After he concentrated to make his throw exact, Gorias flung the body, past the stabbing pines and again, hit the target. The body passed through the opening, clipping the ruined thatch so it busted once more.

  “Damn,” Gorias cursed, hands to the knee plates of this dragon-skin armor. “I should’ve gouged open the roof more from the church rafters. Ya’d think in five hundred years I’d be bright enough to know that. Still, I need the blood of the dwarves for the sacrifice.”

  Determined to kill two projects at once, he armed up another dwarf’s body and then looked over at the larger form in the snow, stained crimson. Gorias frowned, staring into the face of his father.

  Ambiorix, the Ingaevone, stared back at his son. Then again, Ambiorix would look at anyone, forever. The aging chieftain, frozen solid years ago, sat as stiff as a statue and retained a similar stony hue. Still clutching a battle-axe with both hands, Ambiorix’s eyes remained open and his alabaster skin took on an ethereal appearance.

  Gorias threw the slain dwarf over the edge and said to his sire, “I can see why these little pricks worshiped you, Father, dumb bastards that they are.” The brood of small ones took it hard when Gorias arrived to take their god away.

  Though the cold air that came off Zenghaus Mountain bit into the strapping Ingaevone, Gorias never hurried in his task. His cloak and light armor kept him plenty warm. The blood shed on the snow by these tiny folk had long since congealed and the quick battle with them hardly worth recalling.

  “The sooner I send enough of you through the roof below,” said Gorias to the bodies, then his voice trailed off. He looked up at the sky and contemplated; the sooner I’ll have to drag his corpse down to the shrine. He still found himself putting off a mission that eluded him for years.

  Gorias tried to banish wistful thoughts. However, he soon started chewing over the years that passed since his father sat on one of the peaks of Zenghaus above the terminus line, and promptly froze to death. Too much emotion was bad, Ambiorix taught his village back in Thule. Gorias understood that idea as truth from experiencing life. Though not well read, the Ingaevone chief proved correct. If Gorias let his anger, greed or lust get the better of him, he ended up with his balls in a vice, or sometimes in the clutches of a dolt with no sense of humor. He tried not to focus on silly things. If he really were that gullible, Gorias reasoned, he’d believe the silly stories about the world’s immanent destruction in a flood.

  A distant groan interrupted his thoughts. Gorias peered up the slope toward the tree line where the sound originated. Without concern, he grabbed another body for an additional volley. However, Gorias jerked from his thoughts as the carcass screamed once he flung it. Flailing in the air, the dwarf who played possum on the snow bank screeched all the way down, but went silent as his body hit the roof, crashed through and bounced inside the provisional temple. Gorias started to laugh as he heard the dwarf bawl again.

  “What a survivor, the damned runt.” Gorias chuckled at the irony of the dwarf’s endurance skills and gave a mock salute. “His back must be broken by now. I’ll strangle him in time, aye Father?”

  Gorias looked down at the sanctuary and counted on his fingers the number of bodies he’d dispatched. He nodded, wagering that the gap would be wide enough. A smirk spread on his bearded face, for aside from the wail of the paralyzed dwarf, Gorias could hear the plaintive mewlings from around the temple ebbing away. Though he didn’t relish the chore at hand, one he’d put off for eons, he found himself amused by weak people, as always.

  He stepped near to his swords, both sticking out of the snow. Once he’d pulled a cloth from his belt pouch, he wiped each blade before replacing it in the scabbards on his back. As he did so, he recalled the voices of those down at the monastery, the brides of God himself.

  “Our god, Kangmi, will destroy you,” the women of the log monastery had spat at Gorias when he dismounted his stallion, Traveler, earlier in the day. “How dare you come unto the sacred mountain, unto the brides of the Man of the Snows, on a fool’s errand?”

  The half dozen female supplicants of the temple all stood great with child. Their samite gowns bulged in testimony of this fact and from their words, the fruits of the mountain spirit.

  “I just stopped here to warm up and feed my horse before I retrieve my father,” Gorias told them. “Word from a friend told me his body slid down from the place where he died. I know he travels around the summits of there. You folks don’t concern me.”

  The dark haired woman in charge had cursed Gorias like a dried out whore, and then told him, “The false god of the snows who holds the axe? The Stipnca’s worship him, foolish children who find his roving image god-like. What do they know of gods? They who were created by--”

  Gorias shot back, “I don’t care who made them. The fact that my father’s body moves around this damned elevation after his death is nothing but a jest of the gods. If you knew anything of gods, you’d know what a petty lot of pricks they can be. They made him go down lower on the crest to force me to my obligation.”

  Snide voices of the women rang out at once, all saying to Gorias, “Kangmi will slay you and use your manhood as a bottle for his newborns.”

  Gorias blinked, trying to forget the women and their words…or their screams as he crucified them to the doors of the temple. Not that either event bothered him, really, he tried to focus on the task. Like he did earlier, Gorias pushed the frozen figure down the mountain. Soon, he’d retrieve his horse to do more of the work. Ambiorix then slipped from his grip and thudded to the snows, surrounded in a corona of Stipnca blood.

  “Your worshipers provided a final sacrifice, Father,” Gorias jeered his dead forbearer. “The tiny whoresons probably loved dying for you. Rotten tit-mice, every one of them.” His mane of long hair blew free in the wind and he added, “Their blood will entreat Wodan in the end, so they get to provide twice.”

  From down off the mountain, a rumble rolled that he at first mistook for thunder. Gorias wasn’t foolish enough to discount what his senses told him. Setting his boots on either side of his father, Gorias’ nose enlightened him that something foul approached. His ears recorded the crunch of the snow not far off. Gorias spotted the deep prints he assumed belonged to the Kangmi when first encountering the tiny Stipncas on the mountain. He quickly
dispensed his heavy woolen cover to allow his arms freer movement, then reached behind his head and grabbed the pommels of his twin swords.

  Over the snowdrifts leapt Kangmi in all his transcendent glory. When Kangmi landed a few yards from him, towering over the thuggish Ingaevone, Gorias wondered what the children squirming in those women’s bellies would look like. As he drew out the swords from his back, Gorias ruminated that the world would never know.

  Though Kangmi’s overall body frame bore a humanoid shape, his outline shared kinship with jungle beasts Gorias once beheld in his journeys south of Kemet and west of Zimbabwe. Kangmi’s stance, not unlike that of an upside down horseshoe, spewed long arms from his shoulders until they touched the snows. His hands, big enough to cradle a man’s skull, sported fingernails that raked long patterns in the snow. Heavy white fur covered Kangmi’s body, but his chest and abdomen exhibited a bluish colored skin, somewhat hidden by long wisps of ivory hair. Enormous feet kept the creature in place and his incredible manhood swung down practically to his knees. A mouth full of canine teeth parted to let a howl escape.

  But Kangmi’s chest rose and fell. He breathed; thus, even an illiterate barbarian could understand that Kangmi can die. Gorias La Gaul, centuries from his life as a Lord, was no barbarian.

  Pinkish eyes with black pupils leered first at Gorias, then the blades gleaming in the daylight, and settled at last on the few leftover bodies of the Stipncas. Flabby lips peeled back and fetid breath carried the words, “You’ve slain my children.”